


To be a man

by FlamboyantProblematic



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Second Person, Some more angsty fluff for you all, i enjoy being a narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23311939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamboyantProblematic/pseuds/FlamboyantProblematic
Summary: He gently removes the mask, and his lips are unnaturally soft, in a way you'd never expect a man's lips to be. It's better than anything you've ever imagined.Will you swim or drown?
Relationships: Glen/Titus Hardie
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	To be a man

**Author's Note:**

> Art work by Gaith (@Hardie_boi on Twitter)

You don’t remember how it got to this, to the boiling point where you throw words like punches, and you shove , and you argue, yell, shout, insult. Everything is a blank haze, probably from the booze. It’s always the booze. The poison that numbs you, but also makes you an open book. When will you learn?

He says something, you don’t have time to register it before his fist connects with the side of your face. Anger howls within you like a beast waiting to be set free, but you contain it. Had it been anyone else, you would have let go of the leash. But not him. You respect him too much…

You love him too much.

So you just stand upright and spit out the blood. He doesn’t hit you again.

It’s silent for a moment. He looks at you, you look at him. And then he relaxes, fists unclench and fall back to his side. His eyes are almost apologetic… and his voice brings and end to the silence.

“I just want you to be happy.”

Something in you breaks, or maybe that’s just your brain working overtime. You finally remember.

You remember how you brought hell upon the hostel because you didn’t like the way a guy was looking at you, or rather, you liked it, you just didn’t want to admit it. You couldn’t just sit there and let your masculinity be questioned.

Suddenly it felt like you hated the body you were in. This macho physique; the muscles, the rough skin. You wanted to crawl out of it, rip it right off. It didn’t feel like you.

Who are you?

A man.

Is this what it means to be a man?

You hate this body, but it protects you. No one will talk shit about you, no one will dare.

These muscles are only ever good at pushing everyone away, like you’re pushing him away right now.

But he knows you too well. He knows the boy beneath the mask, the one that desires the company of other men in ways that would be laughable to most. You’re ashamed of it, ashamed of the little fragile being behind the muscles. This vessel that is meant to protect you, it’s nothing but glass to him, and reflects to him your weaknesses. You wish you were half the man he was.

You can’t drink this away. No matter how much you fucking wish you could drown the pathetic excuse of a man inside the shell, you know you can’t. So you’re left vulnerable.

“For fuck’s sake… Say somethin’, Glenny.”

What can you say? That you think of men in socially unacceptable ways? That sometimes you think, fuck, maybe you can spend the rest of your life with a guy. That you think you can spend the rest of your life with him? That you hate yourself because of it? All those sick twisted thoughts in your head... And him. He's been by your side for ten fucking years and saved your ass more times than you can count. How do you thank him? By thinking of what it would be like to kiss him? To hold him? Tell him how much it fucking makes your blood boil to see him with someone else?

You’ll never be man enough, so you compensate with power and strength, but is it ever going to be enough?

The fragile little boy in you tells you to cry, you feel like crying. But you would rather die than let yourself be that fucking weak, so you bite your lips till they bleed and you clench your fists, your nails dig into your skin. It doesn’t ease your anxiety.

He takes a step closer to you, you feel threatened. Your body tells you to react, to attack. But you don’t.

He reaches out, grips you by the arms, and suddenly everything is on red alert. You snap, and you return his hit earlier with one that’s even greater in aggression. Your knuckles almost hurt from the contact. It's sure to leave him bruised, in fact, as he stumbles back, you can see the cut your fist left on the side of his face. Despite that he recovers quickly, too fast for you to register, because by the time your brain even comprehends that he was moving, he was already less than an inch away, his hands on your face, and you think he might have knocked you the fuck out because the next thing you know is the feeling of soft lips against yours. They’re too good to be true, it almost feels like kissing a bottle of beer, but sweeter, better. You could quit drinking and get addicted to this instead.

Your body tells you to push him away and beat the fuck out of him for doing this, but god, everything else tells you to give in and melt into the kiss.

Your hands come up to his jacket, fingers curling around the collar, pulling the ghost closer as you hungrily kiss back. You've already lost.

A part of you hates how easily you gave up to the fantasy, to the desire to be this close to another man. It’s wrong and you know it. But fuck, it feels so good.

And the mask shatters, and you become desperate for more.

But he pulls away, and your eyes meet. He gives you a toothy triumphant smile. He broke you, forced the little boy out of the shell.  
You let yourself be weak.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

You’re torn between punching him again and responding by shaking your head.

The desire within you grows rampant, it becomes bigger than you, than your body. Suddenly the small fragile boy becomes a titan, uncontrollable. He takes control, and tells you to chase after those soft red lips again, and like an animal, you do.

You kiss the other man again, and again, and again, until you’re both out of breath.

You expect him to crack a joke, to make fun of you. But he doesn’t. Instead he brings his hands to the side of your face, and moves your hair behind your ear. He’s surprisingly gentle when he caresses your face, in a way you’d never expect a man to be. You lean closer to his touch, and close your eyes as he rubs his thumb over your cheek.

If this was love, you’re not sure how it could ever feel wrong.

You’re not sure what happens next, but you know you’ll never recover if you open your eyes to find that this was all just a dream.

You hear him chuckle and it’s music to your ears. You turn your head, and let your lips press against the palm of his hand. You want this forever, even if you hate the fact that you do. You want it so badly.

You want to ask him to stay with you tonight, maybe tomorrow too, and every day after that. You want him to help you break the rest of the mask off and free you, you want him to hold you with such gentleness that it makes you forget everything you’ve ever believed about being a man. But no words come out when you open your mouth. Maybe you’re moving too fast… with whatever this is.

Maybe you can start by asking him out on a date. Just an advice from your friendly narrator.

It’s hard for you to form the words, it feels like you’re breaking some unwritten manly code that doesn’t even fucking exist. You think about everything you have to lose. People, you’re always thinking about people. What they think, what they’ll say, what they’ll do.

There’s so much that could go wrong…

Frankly, being afraid is kind of unmanly so you might want to reconsider this train of thought and instead just go for it.

If you go down, you go down together, fighting, like you always do. Let the little boy inside take control.

"Do you..." You gesture vaguely. At least it's something.

"Do I what?" He grins. It makes you half angry, half happy.

"You know," Keep trying. "Do you want to..."

He knows what you want to say but he's being patient. Honestly, I think he finds this amusing.

You search for the courage in you to say it. You fish in the shallow lake of your mind, and that savage part of you that lurks underneath gets tired of your shit. Just spit it out.

"Listen, just fuckin' go out with me."

He laughs, you love how loud it is.

"You've waited ten years to ask me this, and that's how you say it? Fair." He nods. "Sure."

It'll just be like a day out with your best friend... which it basically is. Except now you can hold his hand and kiss him, then you can go home and bang. Congratulations on the upgrade.

He takes your hand in his, and runs his lips over your knuckles. You do the same to him. You feel your heart in your chest for the first time in forever.

You can get used to this.

A part of you is excited to see where it goes, for better or worse. That part being the little boy inside you.

Maybe there's more to being a man than being tough. Maybe sometimes being a man means being gentle when you're expected to be harsh, and love when you're expected to hate.

All you know is after tonight, after laughing your heart out with him and a dozen bottles of beer, after taking a long walk and singing drunken odes to old champions, feeling his fingers and how they fit perfectly between yours, and tasting honey on his lips, holding him in your arms for the first time as you slept, and hearing him softly breathe with his chest against yours, his heart against yours, you know that you never want to be without him again. No matter what.

For the first time you think... fuck what people think and what they say. You don't give a single fucking fuck if anyone thinks you're any less of a man. If the cost of being that is your happiness, if the cost is losing this? Then you don't want to be that.

All you want is to be with him..


End file.
